


Descending Horizon

by Sylvia Knight (Gayle)



Series: Descending Horizon [2]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1988-01-01
Updated: 1988-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayle/pseuds/Sylvia%20Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story convincingly explains why our reluctant heroes behave so strangely in the episode Horizon in which lack of trust appears to be unfounded unless, of course, you know what has gone on before...</p>
<p>Previously published in the fanzine Resistance #2. Part 2 in the Descending Horizon series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Descending Horizon

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]  BLAKE  [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

"It's me," Blake said into the intercom at Avon's door.  "Orac wasn't on the flight deck.  I surmised this was the next likeliest spot."

"Your correct surmise wins admittance.  Enter."

The door opened and Blake stepped through.  Avon was leaning back behind his desk, Orac to one side, and a collection of computer circuits and gadgetry spread out before him.  Despite the late hour, he looked refreshed and alert, the silver shirt shimmering under the light.  He made Blake feel grungy and twice as tired.  Avon indicated a chair with a graceful flourish of his hand, and Blake flopped into it.

"You're disgustingly chipper tonight," he said sourly.

"Why not?  Orac has graciously confirmed that the message we received regarding Imipak is genuine.  Nothing like the reprieve of a death sentence to improve one's humor.  It's a great relief to have, once again, at least a one per cent chance at survival."

"You rate our luck at a meager one per cent?"

"I rate both the superior technology of the Liberator, and my skill at pulling your ass out of the fire considerably higher.  You negate these natural advantages with your unwavering commitment to suicidal ventures."

Blake studied Avon.  His eyes were gleaming, and he was smiling faintly, obviously eager for a nasty spat.  But he didn't seem really pissed.  "Cally gave you too much adrenalin with your soma," he observed blandly.  "She should know better by now."

"I helped myself," Avon explained loftily.  "Soma does wonders for back ache, but it makes me disgustingly groggy, rather than, as you would have it, "chipper".  I wanted to stay awake to hear Orac's conclusions.  It perturbed me to think I might wake up dead and not know it."

Blake frowned.  He wanted to tell Avon to go easy on their favorite panacea, except he couldn't quite deal with the hypocrisy when he'd been considering another dose himself.  It wasn't addictive, just a bad habit to get into.  Well, he wouldn't need it now, he could go collapse - if his headache would let him sleep.  "You believe Orac?"  The computer was a marvelous contraption, infallible as far as he could tell, but Blake found he wanted Avon's reassurance as well.  Orac's gizzards weren't at stake in this game.

"While savoring the thought of her ability to kill us at leisure would have a certain malevolent pleasure for Servalan, it would not be as great a pleasure as that of the accomplished fact.  Our existence is a threat, both actual and symbolic, one that she would remove if she could.  We are infinitely preferably as dead meat.  We are not dead." Avon smiled sweetly, "So far as I know ...."

"I couldn't verify it, personally," Blake muttered.

"No, I didn't think you could."

"I'll have to take it on faith."

"There is always the evidence of your senses.  You ache, therefore you live."

Blake grunted.

"Also," Avon continued on the main question, "the message itself lacked a certain piquant scent of...deviousness...that usually surrounds Servalan's activities.  It does not appear to be a new trap, some false reassurance designed to lull our suspicions and lead us to our doom.  Therefore, I concur with Orac that we are indeed safe.  For the moment."

"Good," he said, bluntly.  They were probably right, both computer and man.  If not, there was nothing they could do about it, and it was pointless to continue worrying.  Paranoia was enough of a problem as it was.  Sighing, Blake rubbed his eyes, wishing his nattering brain would accept the message.  Safe.  Rest.  Sleep.  Semi-coherent, it continued to wrestle fitfully with stray fragments of thought.

Cat quiet, Avon appeared next to him, moved behind him.  Blake felt Avon's hands on his head, strong fingers sliding through his hair, exerting a light pressure on his scalp.  Startled, he froze for a second, listening to the quick tripped hammer of his heart beat.  Then he took a deep breath and relaxed back into the chair, into the supporting hands.

"Where?"  Inquiring fingertips repeating the question on his skull.

"The base of the neck," he answered, "and over the eyes."

Blake gave way to the assured fingers.  They worked back from his brow and temples, over the dome of bone and down.  The thumbs stroked lower, working open the clenched fists of pain at the join of head and neck.  When the hands departed, minutes later, he felt clear and energized.  His tiredness had evaporated along with his headache.  Being around Avon always gave him energy.  Strange, considering what a drain the constant arguing was.  Paradox, as Avon himself was an endless paradox.

"Better?" Avon asked, walking in front of him.

"Much.  Better than soma.  Thank you."

"I have very talented hands."  Avon raised them up for his own appraisal.  Blake regarded them as well.  Square, capable hands, more graceful in gesture than they looked in repose.  Hands skilled with fine detail.  Adept, it seemed, at curing headaches.  Adept, he knew, at killing....

"Very," Blake affirmed dryly.

"Would you care for the full demonstration?"  At Blake's questioning glance, he clarified, "Back rub.  Massage.  All that unreleased tension."

The ironic glance had a teasing glitter in it, a spark of challenge.  Blake wondered if he were misreading that spark.  Avon's gaze was always so damned intense - ready to freeze your soul solid or to eat you up, alive and kicking.  He wondered if Avon perhaps even wanted him to misread it, so he could have the perverse enjoyment of cutting Blake down if he responded.  No, Avon was in good spirits.  Avon had just carefully eased his pain.  There was an offer there.  At least the possibility of an offer - if he wanted to take Avon up on it.  If he wanted to chance it.

"All right," he said, his tone carefully neutral.  No promises yet.  With more nonchalance than he felt, Blake stood and stripped off the leather tunic and brown shirt he was wearing, removed the cumbersome boots.  Lay face down on Avon's bed, closed his eyes, and waited.  He felt Avon straddle his body, legs snugly encasing his thighs.  His heart rate had elevated again.  He breathed deeply to quiet its drumming.  Above him, Avon shifted forward, reaching for something - there was the small sound of a cap unscrewing and Blake inhaled a heady aroma of sandalwood.  His body jerked slightly as a cool, creamy line squiggled over his naked back, but the first contact of Avon's hands was warm and soothing.  It might be best to keep it at this, the unthreatening animal comfort of touch....

The hands traveled across his back.  Avon was right, they were definitely talented.  Whatever else might follow, Blake was getting a proper back rub.  The probing fingers were gentle and firm and thorough.  Taking their time, they kneaded, eased the cramped muscles, then found the coiled knots of tension lodged within and attacked them deftly, mercilessly.  Blake grunted with satisfaction as the fingers dug into a new knot, worked it out, smoothed it over.

"You are good," he acknowledged.

It was still not overt, but Avon shifted the mood.  The hands on his shoulders were caressing now.  The voice a seductive purr.  "I know."

Blake's emotions were confused.  Despite his own feelings of curiousity, affection...loneliness, he had avoided approaching anyone on the ship sexually.  He had expected it would be Jenna, if anyone, who would approach him, and he would make whatever decision seemed best, yes or no, when and if she did.  Certainly, her beauty, her spirit had always attracted him...as her posessiveness had always put him off.  Now, for Avon, he felt the early stirrings of appetite, and the honest relief that he would suggest this simple way to bring them closer.  Sex shared between friends was what he had always been most comfortable with, the undemanding affection, a mutual exchange without a lot of convoluted emotions.  Apprehension was a cold counter current, knowledge that nothing with Avon would ever be simple - convoluted barely began to describe the man.  Yet Avon might prefer his sex uncomplicated for that very reason.  He had no idea if Avon had desired this for some time and waited the opportunity, or if he was acting on the spur of the moment.  Probably impulse, considering how quickly Blake had picked up on the innuendo.  They were always acutely aware of each other.  He knew screwing each other would not change their basic conflicts, but it was certainly a positive way to ease the tensions that built up between them.  If it didn't blow up in their faces.

And Blake did not need more problems.  He wanted, fervently, to keep Avon with him on the Liberator.  To band them all into a whole.  From the beginning he had followed his instinct, trusted Avon.  Not that he hadn't experienced the occasional icy finger of fear running up his spine, the queasy lurches of doubt Avon seemed to delight in provoking - but his first impression had been borne out by Avon's actions.  Avon had clashed with him at every turn - and always backed him up.  Avon might flaunt his worst motivations in everyone's face but he acted, for the most part, on his best.  There was a core of integrity in him.  Still, those darker motives were hardly illusory, and Avon might yet succumb to them.  He had continued to hold himself off from them all, refused to give his commitment.  Part of him was always poised, Blake felt, on some invisible edge.  Sex could be the thing to pull him back...or push him over the brink.

Blake had not been involved sexually with anyone, male or female, where power had been a significant issue.  Had shied away from such dubious attractions.  Acting on this one could put the precarious balance the two of them had attained in jeopardy.  Sexual reactions were unpredictable, and Avon's doubly so.  He was difficult enough to handle as it was.  Half the time Blake felt like he had a snarling, half-tamed panther pacing at his heels.  It was exasperating, having to be forever on his guard, forever aware of Avon.  Exciting too, sometimes, in the way danger could be exciting - though it was Avon who seemed to thrive on the conflict.  Certainly, it kept Blake's survival instincts finely honed.  Trying to sort the querulous growls from the ones that foreshadowed danger.  Having to keep the panther under control, force it to perform.  Knowing he had to trust his head between its jaws.

He thought of putting his cock in Avon's mouth...in Avon's ass.  Of having the panther writhing beneath him....  He was rock hard instantly, as if his cock had only been waiting for the image to fully form in his mind.  The jolt of fire surprised him, his arousal usually kindled more slowly.  He shifted restlessly, transferring the weight off his erection, wondering if Avon knew, somehow, he had a hard on now.  The curious hands were moving lower, massaging the small of his back.  Blake was acutely aware of the teasing fingers at the waistband of his pants, knew they longed to burrow beneath it.  His cock twitched, throbbed.

All right, then.  It was **yes**.  He would follow the urgent prompting of his body, have sex with Avon.  ...Only it might be better to let Avon have him.  The other man chafed under his authority now.  Giving way in bed would be an easy recompense.  A little sexual submission might even things out in Avon's view of things.  And he didn't doubt that Avon had the ability to make it a most satisfactory experience.  He should let Avon screw him.

Except it was not what he wanted...not tonight anyway.  It was always difficult to back off once he wanted something.  And there was never a way to be sure, it seemed, exactly what Avon wanted.  Avon had given way, time and again, but not, Blake thought, because of a secret need to be dominated, sexually or otherwise.  In the heart of him, Avon just thought Blake was right.  Stupid, suicidal, fanatical, futile - all that.  But right.  And so, snarling, he had submitted to Blake's demands.  And he had stayed.  Now he was asking Blake to give way, had told him, was demonstrating to him that it would be pleasurable to do so.  But, perhaps, if he could make Avon surrender now, in bed, it would be a symbol between them.  All that was needed to win that final commitment.  The acknowledgment that Avon wanted to be here.

Or all that was needed to convince Avon that Blake was a selfish prick and there could never be a true partnership between them....

Blake tried to let it go, the picture of Avon stabbed on his cock, writhing in ecstasy.  He tried replace it with the image of himself, coming as Avon fucked him.  Tried simply to empty his mind and give way to the warm hands that glided over the muscles of his back.  Only Blake couldn't relax any more.  His cock had other ideas.  As soon as Avon was finished working one area of his back, the muscles tightened once again.  Sexual tension permeated his entire body.  That one potent image flamed up in his mind.  Then, even as Blake's imagination expanded it, showed him the moment of penetration, he felt Avon's hands move over his hips, molding the shape his ass.  Not quite daring skin to skin contact, they kneaded and squeezed his buttocks through the cloth.  Fingers cupping his cheeks, the thumbs parted him and slid into the crease, probing deep, deeper.  Touching the hidden orifice.  Even through the barrier of fabric it was deliciously erotic, and Blake gave a small gasp.  At the sound, the hands released him and Avon settled back against his thighs, waiting.

_Hell, he's made it obvious what he's after, but he's made no demands.  It's still negotiable.  Knowing Avon, he'd rather have me hot on top of him than passive and docile beneath him.  He can always say no.  He can always use those expert hands to try and change my mind.  Or he can have the undoubtedly delightful thrill of telling me to go fuck myself._

Blake rolled over, Avon's body adjusting above him.  He lay looking up into hooded eyes, defiant and a little wary.  He realized Avon had hoped for a definite **yes** or a discreet **no** before he made that last explicit gesture.  Blake had not fully appreciated the other man's risk in offering.  Smiling, he reached up and pulled the dark head down into a kiss.  The hair was silky fine between his fingers, and Avon's lips were soft against his, moist, open, with a tantalizing hint of tongue within.  Then, dainty and deliberate, Avon pounced, sharp teeth taking possession of his lower lip.  They tightened their grip, poising right at the edge of breaking skin.  A tiny, provocative pain.  Blake wondered if the taste of his blood would arouse this taunting demon lover.

"I should have known you'd bite," he commented, when Avon freed him at last.

"You can bite back," came the sly reply.  "You usually do."

Avon leaned forward again.  The wet tongue sketched the outline of Blake's mouth, leaving a tingling trail in its wake, then insinuated itself between his lips to fence with the twin member within.  Lured the twin into his own mouth to suck on with tender ferocity.  A cavalcade of kisses followed, artfully presented for their mutual admiration and enjoyment.  It was not passionless expertise, Avon had a taste for kissing - he relished each juicy nibble, each stinging bite, each luscious, lingering stroke of tongue.  Slowly, the talented hands wandered lower, exploring the smooth expanse of his chest and belly.  Blake let Avon display his skill, let himself savor the subtle, lascivious style, keeping his own responses a counterpoint to Avon's lead.  Nuance echoing nuance.  Except for the traded kisses, Blake lay almost passive, lightly embracing the supple body above him, restraining his own growing heat.  There was something he had to know before they went further....  He tensed slightly as the searching hands moved down to his still clothed crotch.  Slid over the length of his cock.  Paused.  For a second, Avon's face went completely blank, then two eyebrows arched at him in bemused inquiry.

"And what is this?  The primeval triumph of brute force?"

"I've been told it's too big," Blake said coolly.

It was true.  It was an embarrassment, and he'd just as soon lop a couple of inches off the damn thing.  Revealing it always made for a nice initial goggle, and some of his partners had praised the size of him most ardently, but there were too many who'd nervously suggested alternatives to intercourse.  Usually, it didn't matter to him.  Usually, it made no difference who did what to which portion of whose anatomy.  Sex was enjoyable in all its forms.  Tonight he wanted to fuck.  He wanted triumph and yielding.  And if Avon would not yield to him, he realized he would rather yield to Avon than work out some more equitable solution.  Fraternal masturbation, the comradely mutual suck.  The easy give and take that had been his previous preference with both sexes, however they touched each other's nakedness.  Now he wanted, intensely, the kind of dominance he'd always found slightly silly and distasteful.  Wanted dominance - but not brutality.  So he lay back and flaunted his cock, making his confession a challenge.  Hoped desperately that it was a challenge Avon desired, that the size of him triggered lust rather than fear.

Slowly, Avon's hands opened the bulging fly, curled around the edges of pants and briefs.  Blake lifted his hips as Avon tugged, pulling the garments down to his knees.  His erection sprang free.  Then Avon smiled, a smile that sent a thrill of anticipation up Blake's spine.  Involuntarily, his eyes closed as Avon reached out for him - then snapped open again as he felt a feather light pinch on the glans, and two meticulous, clinical fingers lifted him up.

"I shall have to reappraise your genealogy.  Horse, certainly," Avon mused, twisting him this way and that for further appraisal.  "Or perhaps a great, spreading oak tree passed on this knobby root?"

"Wasp - that's what you are," Blake laughed.  Eager now, he grabbed Avon and rolled him over, pinning him to the bed.

"Wasp?" Avon inquired with pseudo petulance.  "Such a little sting?  I thought cobra, myself.  Tall, dark, flaring hood ...."

"Not this," Blake said, running a hand over the stretched leather of Avon's groin, loving the low, humming moan the touch evoked.  "That damned vicious tongue of yours."  His mouth captured the offender, sucking hard on the limber muscle, letting it feel the light scrape of his teeth.  Blake's own style was warm and lazy, building to fire.  Except tonight he was already hot, and it was easy to play Avon's titillating games.  Give him exactly what he'd asked for.  Deliberately, he pulled away from Avon's tongue and trapped his lower lip instead, biting down as Avon had done to him, enjoying the fragile feel of the flesh.  Let his teeth sink in until Avon gasped and quivered, the confined serpent leaping against Blake's hand.  Gently now, he licked the chafed lower lip, traced the sculptured rim of the upper, duplicating Avon's earlier gesture.  Then he kissed him again, deeply, thoroughly, taking Avon's head between both hands as he plundered the inside of his mouth, drinking up the bittersweet taste of the man.

Avon's body surged up, arms wrapping around Blake.  The sensuous leather rubbed his naked flesh - that second skin a supple coolness under his fingers as he slid one hand down to gather Avon's ass.  Strong hips rocked against him, the concealed hardness of Avon's cock struggling to meet his own.  Blake pressed him nearer, matching each voluptuous thrust.  It was electric, exhilarating, to have this guarded creature respond to him so readily.  Avon was panting slightly when Blake released him, his eyes closed, lashes casting faint shadows.  Blake kissed the smooth, convex curve of the eyelids.  His tongue teased across the giving flesh of the cheek, the slanted ridge of cheekbone, nuzzled into the hollow of the ear.  Avon was sensitive there, and under the lobe, all along the throat, stretching it out for his caress.  Sighing as Blake tongued the beating pulse.  Blake had the urge to mark him, suck the skin until it mottled.  There, higher, where Avon couldn't hide it tomorrow, where he would flush with embarrassment, with desire, whenever he felt Blake's eyes on it.  But he didn't, only used his teeth again lightly, to hold Avon still while his hand sought the opening of the leather pants, unzipped it, wiggled beneath snug briefs to brush the silky bristle of pubic hair.  Clasp the hot, straining arch of cock.

Blake drew back to look at the prize he held in his hand.  The color was striking, a rich wine red against the paler skin of the belly, the crinkly blackness of pubic hair.  To Blake's eyes it was elegantly proportioned, not too big or too small.  Perfect.  The skin so fine and soft under his fingertips.  He mapped the embossed tracery of veins, circled the winged angle of the ridge.  His thumb glided over the head, lifting the glistening bead of moisture from the tip.  The cobra raised itself higher, as insolent and beautiful as Avon.

"I have never...ever...had any complaints," Avon murmured smugly, doing a little flaunting himself, pressing his sex into the cradling hand.

Blake drew back, eyes wide with feigned horror.  "You should have told me you were a virgin!" he exclaimed.

He could see Avon fighting not to laugh, to command an appropriate retort.  A complete failure.  Avon choked on his own laughter, snorting and sputtering from the unexpected reaction.  Barely under control once more, he eyed Blake askance, lips still twitching and eyes glinting wickedly.  Looking as if he might very much like to bite again.  _Out for my blood, Avon?_

"You're going to trip yourself up if you're not careful," was what Avon eventually said, dropping his eyes to the tangle of cloth around Blake's knees.

Blake sat up and kicked off his remaining clothes, watched as Avon pulled off boots, shed the silver shirt and black leather pants.  He envied Avon's grace, the compact, slender body.  Stripped naked, Avon reached out and grasped Blake's shoulders, pushing him back on the bed, reversing their previous positions.  Reluctantly, Blake let himself follow the pressure of Avon's hands and body, let Avon straddle him once more.  Avon knelt back, gliding his hands the length of Blake's torso, encircling the heavy genitals.  Cupping them, Avon leaned forward again, bringing them together, sex to sex.  Sharp pleasure sparked between them, and Blake hissed with excitement at the touch, heard Avon's echo.  The sensation so much more intense than he expected.

Holding them together, Avon stretched over him to grab the bottle of cream.  He squeezed out a generous amount, letting it spill over both their cocks.  It was delicious, the flow of the cream, the twining caress of Avon's hands, the building heat and friction of their cocks moving together, the round, bumping weight of their balls.  More cool cream gliding over them.  His brain was intoxicated with the warm scent of sandalwood, the rising sexual musk.  Blake went with the sensations, letting the anticipation build, but he did not believe Avon meant for them to finish this way.  He thought it was an acknowledgement that one of them would be inside the other.  Was certain when Avon reached behind them, one hand delving between Blake's ass cheeks, slippery fingers nudging the closed bud of his anus.  A single fingertip circled the rim, pressed the giving center, delicately penetrating the ring of muscle.  Began a soft, spiralling journey inward.  A quiver of longing raced through Blake but he ignored it, driven by a fiercer need.  Shifting away from the searching hand, he rose up, pulling the arm away.  Took hold of Avon's shoulders, starting to push him down on the bed.

With a quick jerk, Avon twisted free.  He crouched back on the bed, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring.  They were both breathing quickly.  With that one gesture, Blake had made them antagonists.  He knew Avon was angry, but saw the fire in him burning hotter too, and that flame kindled his own.  Unable to resist the compulsion, Blake reached out again.  Avon did not draw back from the hand that gripped his arm, but he resisted, wire taut, when Blake tried to pull him forward.  For a minute they stared at each other.  Waited for one to give way.  Gradually, the flickering anger in Avon's face was veiled by sardonic amusement.  He smiled at Blake, a mocking, sarcastic smile.  A gauntlet.

"You think it matters?"

"Doesn't it?" Blake asked.

"No."

_Liar_ , Blake thought, looking at the avid hunger in Avon's eyes.  He knew Avon wanted acquiescence this first time, as he wanted it for himself.  He watched then, surprised, as Avon seized the heavy thickness of his cream-slicked cock and lifted his body over it.  He felt the sweet snub of his cock head against the yielding pucker of Avon's anus.  In one swift plunge, Avon impaled himself on it, his head thrown back, mouth opening in a soundless cry.

"Avon!" Blake exclaimed.  He was too horrified to move, shocked with the rush of fear, the overwhelming rush of ecstasy as the hot tunnel encased him.  Teeth gritted, Avon was sucking in deep, rasping breaths, a sudden rain of sweat glittering on his skin.  Tremors coursed through him, shivering Blake in turn.  At last the dark head turned down to him.  The eyes met his, glowing with wild feverish light.

"You see," a harsh whisper, "it doesn't matter at all."

Then Avon began to fuck Blake, fuck himself on the towering cock.  Blake twined his fingers in the bedspread to brace himself against the vicious onslaught.  It was ruthless, expert, and totally exquisite.  It left Blake stunned, gasping and panting beneath it.  There was no doubt whatsoever of who was in control.  He wanted to retaliate, to drive into the tormenting body that rode him, but he could not even gather himself to thrust.  The erotic assault went on and on and on, until all Blake wanted was to give way to the ravishing sensations.  Surrender himself and feel whatever Avon could make him feel.  He heard his own voice moaning, felt his head thrashing on the pillow.

"Blake,"  Avon's body was poised over his, holding only the head of Blake's cock inside his ass.  Avon's hand was at his throat, turning his face to meet feral eyes, black and blazing with lust.  The panther was back, and it had never been even half tamed.  Avon rammed down onto him again, and Blake shouted Avon's name, his back arching, helpless beneath the raw glory of it.  "You see Blake, I can have you just as easily this way."

That stark arrogance sent a flare of anger through Blake.  He grabbed onto the anger, held it tight.  Held it till the hot brightness of it burned cold, a hard coldness he could feel in his gut, in his cock.  Blake knew now he could not combat that sexual intensity and win, but he could combat and conquer Avon's will.  Avon's passion could burn Blake out, consume him...but it could consume Avon too.  He would hold onto the cold core inside himself and wait Avon out.  Turn the tables on him.  For once in his life, he had no desire at all to be kind with a lover.  _You're going to come first,_ he promised Avon.  _Then I'm going to drag you under me and fuck your brains out._

"More," he demanded, trying to push the other man beyond his own limits.  "Harder."

Avon's hips rose up, drove down onto him, an endless bombardment.  Again...again...pace and angle shifting constantly.  Blake was growling, filled a rage of desire.  There was no pretense, his body cursed him, begged him to let go.  But the sound was deliberate too, knowing Avon devoured his responses, responded fiercely in turn.  He felt fingertips claim his nipples.  A small, welcome distraction, for he was not highly sensitive there - but he  realized Avon must be, from the exaggerated care he gave each erect nub.  Quickly, Blake reached up to the lightly furred chest, took Avon's nipples between finger and thumb and pinched, hard, rolling the tiny buds back and forth.  Using the bright edge of pain that Avon craved.  Keening, the slender body moved on him in a frenzy, lured and captured by its own hunger.

"Yes," Blake urged. "Yes, Avon."

Avon cried out so sharply Blake was sure orgasm was claiming him.  Triumphant, he clutched Avon's hips, pulling them hard against him, thrusting up, up into the incredible tightness.  The smaller body shuddered violently, but no cream spurted forth from the rigid cock.  Avon groaned, a sound of something breaking deep inside him, and Blake was afraid he had injured him, shoving into him like that.  Instantly, concern flooded through him, washing away the anger.  He found it mattered after all, mattered terribly, if he made Avon suffer.  His hands released their bruising grip, smoothing from hip to knee, conveying comfort.  But Avon sobbed at that touch too, as if it hurt him.  Not pain then, but an extremity of pleasure.  Fascinated, he watched as Avon whimpered, tossing his head as Blake's fingertips skimmed the delicate skin of the inner thighs.  With calculation, with infinite care, Blake slid his hands inward to frame the genitals.  Gently enclosed the hot, straining sex.  There was a single indrawn gasp, then only silence throbbing about them as they both held their breath.

It changed.  Blake could feel it change, tuned to each nuance in the body above him.  Avon sighed, and the ferocity melted away from him.  The clutching hands, the tight ass that held Blake were suddenly giving, pliant, enfolding him as he enfolded Avon's cock.  Oblivious to the transformation, Avon began to move again, slowly, so slowly now.  The silky passage clasped Blake's cock, the movement caressing, almost questioning.  It was so sweet to feel the inside of Avon's body, moist and clinging, hugging him close.  So erotic to feel the rhythmic pulse of blood in Avon's cock.  He closed his hold on it, stroking upward.  Avon moaned, the timbre of his voice deep and resonant.  The sound vibrated within Avon, and Blake could feel it touch him, caressing his sex as surely as Avon's body did.

"Blake," Avon whispered, as if it were a discovery.

The dark eyes were closed, lips parted, the face soft.  Blake was more dazzled by that softness than by all the driving passion that had preceded it.  It was more than he had ever hoped to see on Avon's face, this rapture, this aching sweetness.  He had captured Avon, but he no longer knew who it was he held.  Blake's anger had departed with the fear.  Now all the need for dominance flowed away, leaving him strangely empty, floating.  He marveled that he had ever wanted it.  Ever thought he needed it.  He could offer anything to this man.  Share everything with him.  He felt his whole being begin to open, reach out to embrace this beautiful stranger.

"Avon," Blake pronounced the name in absolute wonder.

Half smiling, Avon opened his eyes, dreamy and tender.  Blake lifted his hand to touch Avon's cheek and froze.  Whatever Avon had expected to find on his face, it was not surprise, not astonishment.  And whatever he saw, it was not enough.  Avon had been utterly lost in passion.  Lost, had believed that place of sweet abandon he discovered was already shared, matched soul to soul.  Now, even as Blake reached out now to touch it, to share it, it was gone.  A wash of pain obscured the tenderness, then black fury blazed across both.  Blake felt an instant of pure fear looking at that face, thinking he would have to fight to keep his head, or his cock, still attached to his body.  Then the fury was masked over, blank and cold.

"This doesn't seem to be working out," Avon said.  His voice was ice, precise and scornful.

Avon jerked off his body, off the bed, leaving Blake's cock bereft and chilled in the abrupt current of air.  Avon drew back a step, then the mask hardened a fraction more around the eyes.  "I don't suppose," he said disdainfully, "there's any reason why both of us should be unsatisfied."

Avon was back again, bending over him.  One hand closed expertly about Blake's cock, the other pushed between his ass cheeks, setting a stiff, probing finger against his instinctively tightening anus.  The finger stabbed through, striking deep and sure for the sensitive buried gland.  All the while the swift hand pumped him.

"No, Avon!" Blake exclaimed, trying to push him away.  But it was too late.  He had surrendered the cold anger that had guarded him.  His body was unprepared for the assault...and hungry, very hungry.  He had denied it too long.  The acute stimulation sent him over the edge.  He groaned, shoving up into the punishing hand as the come geysered out of him, spattering Avon's chest.  The hand released him immediately, just when he wanted more than anything for it to stroke him.  Wanted the retreating finger in ass to press in deeper, harder, penetrate to the exploding center of his body.  Wanted, tried to pull Avon into his arms, hold him close while he spilled out all his thwarted passion.  But Avon wrenched from his grasp, was gone.  Beyond reach.  Abandoned, Blake's cock jerked twice more, dispiritedly spitting up the last of its load then lolling against his thigh.  Blake collapsed back on the bed, eyes closed, empty in body and spirit.  When he forced himself to look up a second later, Avon had picked up a shirt, Blake's brown shirt, and was swabbing the semen from his chest.

"You've got all of me you're going to get," he hissed savagely, throwing the shirt in Blake's face.  "Don't be here when I get back."  Avon pulled on a robe, yanking it shut over the rampant erection.  He turned and stalked out of the room.

"Bastard!  You're the one who made it a goddamned contest," Blake yelled at the closing door.  Except, of course, that it was only half true and no consolation whatsoever.  He turned on his side, curling up around the empty ache in his gut.  "Damn," he swore softly.  "Damn...damn...damn."

_Get up, you fool.  Find him.  Before its too late.  Give him whatever he wants._   He picked up the crumpled, sticky shirt and pulled it on, smelling his own sperm on it.  Memory filled his brain with Avon's dark, electric scent.  He thought of that gorgeous wine red cock, jutting out from Avon's groin.  Thought of kneeling in front of it, sucking it.  He'd wanted to do that, the moment he'd seen it.  He could feel Avon's hands moving through his hair, drawing him close as the cock swelled and swelled within his mouth.  He saw himself pull away, turn, press his face to the floor.  He offered his ass, spreading his own cheeks.  Begged Avon to fuck him.  So easy, to give that to Avon, if he still needed it.  He wanted to give it now, as much as he had desired it from Avon when they began.  A night of reversals, beautiful, bitter, and absurd.

Blake thought of Avon's face, the anguish, the rage blazoned on it.  If it was simply sexual submission he could do it.  Apology...recompense...gift.  But Avon would not be looking for some way to heal the breach between them, he would be looking for some way to wound in return.  Blake could just imagine the kind of humiliation Avon would exact.  More than he could accept.  Avon was too hellishly good at infuriating him, and he would not relent until he achieved his goal.  A confrontation would only come to some worse violence of spirit or flesh.

_If I hadn't held out against him, he would never have broken that barrier, found that place inside himself.  He hides it from everyone, himself most of all._   Or, perhaps, all that had been necessary was for Blake to have given Avon what he had asked for in the beginning.  The power play between them had, at first, been playful.  But the game had become a battle, one they had both lost.  If he had granted Avon the victory, opened himself, would Avon have opened in return?  No way to know now.  And Avon's barriers would rise higher than ever.

Blake had known there was a gentler man behind that bitter facade, but he hadn't known how vulnerable.  _You should have known.  No one builds walls around their heart like that without reason.  Wraps the walls in thorns, so you rip your flesh to shreds trying to breach them, reach the sleeping beauty within._   Well, he'd woken this enchanted prince with a kiss, and almost got his eyes clawed out for it.  The bloody thorns were Avon too, and the cold stone walls.  It was all one package.  He wondered who had hurt the man so deeply, that he laid such a black spell over himself.  Was afraid for him.  That it was, perhaps, the only defense Avon had.

He tugged on his pants, his boots, wondering where Avon would go to hide.  How incensed he must have been, to storm out of his own room barefoot and half naked.  In control, he would have leaned back against a convenient wall, insolent and superior, addressing caustic comments to Blake as he dressed.  _I've lost him.  He can't bear to have that vulnerability exposed.  He'll run.  And I need him.  We need him_.  Blake shuddered.  Even abject humiliation would be worth it.  A little session of emotional evisceration.  _Accept it.  Give him anything, whatever gruesome wound it takes to satisfy him.  Let him flay your soul alive if it will keep him._

Exhaustion swept over him, and a sense of futility.  He sat on the bed, cradling his head in his hands.  If it was blood Avon wanted, he didn't believe he had sufficient energy now to bleed properly.  To spill his blood knowing that it was not the thirst that Avon needed to quench.  He felt like weeping.  It  was so stupid, so pointless, all this grief and wrath.  _If you'd looked in my face a second later, you would have found what you were looking for, you silly prick.  I was so close.  Was it so unforgivable, to have discovered the possibility instead of the actuality?_

Love.  However much it terrified the man, it was what he wanted, needed.  Avon wanted to love Blake.  Blake wanted to love Avon.  Now the elusive emotion had slipped from their grasp, smashed to pieces.  And it should all have been so damn simple....

Except that love was far less simple than sex.  Blake thought of the others who had asked for love from him.  Of the few to whom he thought he could, honestly, offer it.  Of how they had always seemed, finally, a little sad, disappointed - or angry - as if what he offered was not what they had meant at all.  "I love **you** ," Lara had yelled at him, walking out of his life, "It's you I want to be a part of, not your gory glorious cause."  He had never understood what part she meant.  How she could say she loved him, and not care about what he did, what he was.  It was his core, he had no sense of himself without it.  Had been a wandering shell when they tried to take it from him.  Oddly, he knew Avon understood it was the heart of him, and whatever love or hate Avon felt for him was inseparable from it.  At least it had been, before tonight.

He remembered all the tangled emotion Avon had revealed to him...the intense passion...the intense tenderness.  He seriously doubted he could love Avon enough to satisfy the man, and he knew it was selfish to hope Avon could love him enough to compensate for the lack.  He felt depressed now, and crippled with confusion.  He had no idea what was best to do.  And all he wanted was to gather the poor tormented bastard in his arms and rock them both to sleep.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]  CALLY  [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Fatigued as she was, Cally had been unable to do anything but lie in bed staring at the ceiling.  She got up, thinking a session of losaro, the mediation and exercise regime she had practiced on Auron, would banish the restlessness that gnawed at her, the sense of living on her nerve ends.  She encountered Blake wandering in the hallway and paused, curious and concerned, nodding to him as he passed her.  He had that bewildered look that overcame him when he was very tired, or very troubled. Both now, she thought...and very rumpled too.  He nodded back, avoiding eye contact, then turned around and headed back the way he'd come.  Stopped again, at the cross corridor, rubbing his head as if it ached.  She sighed, worried and slightly annoyed with him.  He could be as inaccessible as Avon, with less reason.  Whatever reason that was.

She presumed their rest room would be empty, and it was unlit as she opened the door and stepped inside.  She palmed the overhead fixture onto full - and as swiftly turned it off again.  She stood, paralyzed, her mind still blinded by the flashing image of Avon, sprawled naked on one of the floor mats, startled and furious in the vivid glare of light.  Avon masturbating...the red, swollen shaft still clutched in his hand.

"Well," said the cold, cutting voice, "either go or stay."

She felt herself blush, an unaccustomed feeling, and blush again because she still could not seem to move.  Her heart was pounding, and a wave of heat swept throughout her body, beating out from her pelvis.

Go or stay, he had said, not Go away.

She tried to think.  Something was terribly wrong.  She could never quite predict him, but she would have expected him to handle something like this with humor, however caustic.  It was his blunder, as much as hers, that she had stumbled on him jerking himself off in here.  But why here?  Because the mood happened to take him?  ...Or because he had left someone in his own room and come here to be alone?   Alone with his anger and his desire.




Blake.  It had to be Blake.  No one else reached him that deeply.  They had fought, bitterly if it was sex.  And how could she step unscathed through the middle of that battle?

"Cally," Avon said now, tonelessly.  And she knew, because she had not gone, he was now asking her to stay.  Asking - and warning her off.

"It's not me you want," she responded quietly.  Not wanting to hurt him, but she had to tell him, to tell herself, she had heard the warning.  That she had no illusions.

"I could use a friend," he said, the flat, hard tone almost masking the distress.  It was the closest, she thought, that he could ever come to "please".  And should a friend ask for "please" - even one about to be used?  _Oh Cally,_ she thought, _you are a fool._

She locked the door, wondering if he had been too upset to think of it, or had hoped, instead, that Blake would find him here?  Carefully, she dialed the light, placing it on its lowest setting.  Turning back, she walked slowly toward him, a dim shape amid shadows.  Standing beside him now,  she could see the glitter of his eyes looking up at her, darkness touching her in darkness.  She undressed awkwardly, her fingers snagging on the fastenings of her shirt, legs wobbling as she stripped off her pants.  Naked, she hesitated again.  He leaned forward and she felt  his lips, soft and faintly moist, brush against the instep of her foot.  The single touch sent a singing line of fire coursing up her.  Her knees felt weak.  Afraid of falling, she sat down next to him abruptly.  The aura of musk assailed her, a savage spice.  She waited, sensitized, expectant.  The cloth of the mat felt so rough under her buttocks, the crushed pillow of his robe velvety beneath her fingers.  But he did not reach out to her.   She waited a second longer, then placed her hand on his shoulder.  It shocked her to feel him shaking and she lay down beside him, drawing him close.  She was quivering too, part longing, part fear.




"Cally," he murmured again.  He felt him reach out, his hand touching her first there, between her legs, as if her sex was her self.  And when he touched her she felt it was.  His hand enclosed her, palm cupping the plush triangle of pubic hair, his fingertips delicately pausing against the tender lips.  Then the fingers parted her...dipped into her, finding her already wet.  She felt a rush of humiliation at her body's obvious confession.  She felt, also, the terrible anguish in him, his body rigid and trembling beside her.  What did it matter, in the face of that need, that her body revealed what they both knew?

"Yes," she whispered, opening her legs to him.  "Yes, I want you.  I'm ready."

He covered her swiftly.  She felt the blunt, gentle probe of him brushing against her, sliding down to press against her entrance.  Felt the heat gathering there, streams of liquid fire pooling at her center.  It had always been the most exciting moment for her, the wonder of taking the man into her body, often the moment of climax.  But not like this, without the long foreplay that aroused her.  Not without the intimate interplay of minds.  Only she was aroused, aching for him.  She was going to come now, as he opened her, gently, gently, but with that terrible violence held back.  She twisted under him, trying to fight what was happening, and unable.  He would make her feel everything and give her nothing, and she could not resist him.  She cried out his name, "Avon...No."

"Yes, Cally."  He drew her closer, his voice so quiet, so desperate, "Sweet Cally, yes."

"No!" she was afraid still, struggling against the flood of sensation, the pouring dark and light.  His hands closed like iron on her.  Her body was trapped, caught on his, thrashing beneath him.  "Cally, he said, begging, "Cally...please ...."

And, oh, the pain in him hurt her, the pain and pleasure of him shattered her, broke her open.  The orgasm shook her, shook them both.  Crying out, he began to move, driving into her.  The restraint, the gentleness were gone, the fury in him, the agony, demanded release.  Quaking, she wrapped her arms, her legs around him and held on as he thrust and thrust and thrust within her, then froze, arching against her.  A sound tore from his throat, as if he were mortally wounded.  She pressed her body closer, pulling him as deep as she could, sheathing the knife edge of his pain  in her flesh.  She could feel the throb of his sex, the wet pulse of his semen against the walls of her womb.  She found she was sobbing, her voice some strange, lonely echo of his body sobbing inside her.

They lay wrapped about each other until the trembling subsided, until silence enfolded them.  She let her legs unwind and fall away from his body.  His penis slipped from her.  He kissed her forehead and her cheek, warm breath nuzzling her ear.  "Thank you," he said softly.  Then drew her close, tight in his arms, saying it again, as if she might not have heard it, might not know it was important that she hear it.  "Thank you."

She found there was nothing she could answer to that that was not too much or too little, so she simply held him and allowed herself the melancholy afterglow, the soothing contentment of his heart beating close to her own.  She let her hands wander, embark on the tentative exploration that should have been the beginning.  Upward to feel the wet silk of his hair, damp and clinging with sweat, curl faintly around her fingers.  Down, across his cheek, his throat, searching out the textures, the sculptured fit of him, how his body joined at neck and shoulder, belly and hip.  She savored the scent of him - a scent of storms, of rain drenched earth and grass, a wild freshness beneath the heady cloud of musk.  After a time, he began to respond, stroking her quietly in return.  Yet he had retreated again, withdrawn into his shell, his sorrow.  Feeling much safer now, no doubt.

How could she feel him so clearly and not know his mind?  He was like some alien black crystal she held to the light, the splintering flaws one with the perilous beauty.  The whole transparent but impenetrable.  A tear-stinging gratitude filled her, that she was not quite in love with him...or just a little in love with him.  It did not destroy her that he shut her out again, now, when she longed to be closer, only saddened her.  She tried to pull away, feeling too alone next to him.  But he held her and looked in her eyes.  She let him look, glad there was no deep ache, no bleeding wound cut between them.  She could grant him his solitude, without too much bitterness, and still hope he might reach out to her again.  If she did not ask for more than he could give, he would give what he could.

"Sweet Cally," he said once more, and began to kiss her, caress her.  Offering all the soft, searching touches she would have wished from a new lover.  "Let me please you."

It was gentle and slow and it was all for her, taking nothing for himself except her body's delight.  His hands moving over her with terrible, knowing tenderness.  Her body unfurled beneath him, opening to his fingers, his lips, the sharp sweetness of his tongue sliding across the pulsing heart of her.  And she let him, giving way again, utterly.  Let him make her weep with pleasure in his arms because it was, like his gratitude, a beautiful gift.

If not the gift she would have asked for.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]  AVON  [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

The image of Blake and Jenna wavered, vanished.  Seething, Avon stared at the empty transporter pad, wishing he'd sent them both to oblivion.  Blake's voice gibbered in his brain, "Avon plays the percentages."  Yes, Avon most certainly did.  And he was not about to let the percentages play him.  Did Blake imagine his clumsy efforts at manipulation would stop Avon, if he wanted to leave?  Control of the Liberator would be a coup, but he did not need the ship, or its first class pilot.  He did not need any of them.  Vila might not have anywhere else to go, but he certainly did not lack for opportunities.  There were many neutral planets that would welcome his skills, his knowledge.  He could buy a new identity.  With luck, with discretion, the Federation would forget him once he parted ways with the rebels.  There was no reason to stay.  Certainly not for their fearless leader.  Nor for Cally - she would be better off without him.  Her generosity would be a terrible temptation.  The possibility that he might hurt her made him nauseous.  He had given her too little...and Blake far too much.

Did Blake know Cally had found him?  Avon suspected so.  He had not liked the surreptitious, measuring glances Blake had given them both this morning.  But it was not the central issue.  Ignoring this further invasion of his privacy, Avon had carefully schooled his manner, done his best to convey that the incident between Blake and himself was not, after all, important.  That he, at least, was perfectly willing to forget it.  One minor fiasco among the many of their association.  Now this insult.  Was resuming last night's garb too defiant?  It had been a small personal victory to refrain from trashing it.  He was particularly fond of that shirt.  Why should he not wear it now?  Especially when it's previous sojourn on his body was so brief.

What insanity had possessed him to approach Blake last night?  It had taken so little inducement.  Avon remembered standing behind him, inhaling that earthy, comforting aroma, warm and wheaty like fresh baked bread.  Remembered the feel of Blake relaxing, leaning back against him, the tumbled mass of curls filling his hands.  Wondering then where the pubic thatch began to grow, thick and wild against the smoothness of Blake's skin.  Wanting, suddenly, to see, touch, taste.  To be inside him.  Hear Blake's voice, rough with passion, whispering his name....

An understandable impulse, rising from erotic curiosity, from the kind of volatile intimacy that shared danger evoked.  But it had been rank stupidity for him to imagine Blake would be a generous lover.  Blake's heart might bleed profusely for the vast, downtrodden mass of wretched humanity, but it had little mercy to spare for the misery of his friends.  His followers rather, reluctant or otherwise, whose proper position was firmly under Blake's foot.

_If it was comfort you wanted,_ his mind taunted, _you shouldn't have given that bewitching performance - Space City's most polished whore._

But he had not been looking for consolation - the solace that Cally had later given him.  Rather, he had been filled with exhilaration.  With Blake, it had suddenly seemed possible that he might reclaim a part of himself he had lost - the ability to revel in carnal pleasure.  He had wanted to enjoy himself, enjoy Blake...bedazzle him a bit.  He had envisioned a subtle ravishment, a skillful seduction that would leave Blake totally vanquished, boneless with delight.  It had seemed so easy.  Blake had even made him laugh at himself, at his own amorous wiles.  It was amusing at first, their blend of amiability and licentiousness.  Then terribly exciting - all that power flowing between them.  Before holding the power became a battle.

Why had he let it obsess him?  True, he had wanted to penetrate Blake.  It seemed a small concession  and he had not imagined they would quarrel about it.  Two eager mouths were more commodious, after all, than one unwilling ass, be it his or Blake's.  Certainly, if Blake had been inexperienced, afraid, he would have offered his own body.  Would have given himself, perhaps, if Blake had even asked.  Sufficient ardor might have won him over.  Anything but Blake's presumption that possession was his right.  Blake, Lord of the Liberator.  Wasn't _droit de seigneur_ an outmoded, an antithetical conceit for a revolutionary hero?  Of course, a simple No on his own part would have sufficed, and some more symmetrical arrangement agreed upon.  Instead, Blake's refusal had triggered that darker lust in him, the urge to conquer the man, one way or another.  To prevent Blake from controlling him.  Once that fight had begun, there was no way to stop it.  No one was going to subjugate him again.  He had sworn it.

How ironic for him to have imagined that, with Blake, there would be a relationship with no chains, either imposed or chosen.  Something richer than he had found in those years of sexual adventure and emotional barreness.  The time after Rav and slavery.  Before Anna.  Before he understood what it was to love someone without reservation.  To make love with someone who loved you in return....

Invaluable wisdom, that knowledge of flesh and spirit.  And, like all wisdom, bought with suffering.  There had been no one in his bed since Anna died.  Still, his body was as greedy as ever, demanding physical release no matter what the emotional cost.  But to try and ignore the need proved more disruptive than enduring the agonizing orgasms.  It was only recently that masturbation had ceased to be an excruciating experience, all his carefully buried grief welling up through his sexuality.  The wound was deep and last night had torn it open before it was healed.  If it would ever heal.

In future he should confine himself to the less hazardous hurts and pleasures of the solitary vice.  The emotions he had felt for Anna were still too accessible, a well of longing inside him.  Blake had tapped into those emotions.  Violated them.  Now dared to think they belonged to Blake.  Obviously, the proportions of the man's cock had irreparably affected his ego.  Avon shuddered.  He was sore, knew he would be sore for days.  He could still feel Blake inside his body.  Could remember how it felt, encompassing that pinnacle of pain and pleasure.  An excessive gesture on his part.  One that had seemed more than worth it at the time, immeshed in that ridiculous battle of wills.  An inspiration.  An exaltation of defiance.  The most perfectly perverse way to capture Blake...to have the rebel completely at his mercy.  Avon gave a short bark of laughter.  Last night, when he had first dared to reach out to Blake, he had thought he was reaching for freedom.  What folly.

As far as power plays went, Blake was a rank amateur.  Avon should really pack Blake off to Rav for some serious instruction in the techniques of psychological control.  Blake's efforts at heart-felt sincerity were particularly pathetic.  His brother was a master of the intricacies of manipulation, emotional, sexual, and otherwise.  Rav had taught Avon all he needed to know about dominance, taught him very, very young.  But Avon had finally cast off the yoke his brother had laid on him, and he would not endure another one.  From Rav he had learned hatred, the passion of struggle.  And then there was Anna, from whom he had learned love, the passion of absolute surrender.  That discovery had been the most exquisite, the most shattering revelation of his life.

And he never, ever wanted to experience it again....

"Avon might run."  He repeated Blake's words, enunciating each word precisely.  Took a deep breath, willing his body to stop shivering.  "Well...why not?"

 


End file.
